Hot Stuff
by LoPotter
Summary: Ohhhhh.... Just a little ficlet about my favorite couple. This one is a bit of a far cry from my others, so I hope you enjoy it!!


A/N: Well……. Who do you think it is?

Disclaimer: This, of course, all belongs to me, I own ALL Harry Potter characters,

and I am becoming rich and famous off of them, and I rule the world, and I am

married to Matthew McConaughey, and I am the Secretary General of the UN, and I

own an Audi, and I have come up with a lasting and successful solution to the

Arab/Israeli conflict, and I can speak five languages. Thank you.

I hate getting home before him. He knows that I'll start cleaning up his mess, I always

do. It's what Ginny calls 'really really sad, but completely cute,' or something… I

think that's the right phrase. 

I Apparate in to our apartment, sure enough, there's pretty much an entire wardrobe

strewn across the floor. You'd think out of the two of us, I would be the one more

concerned with clothes, he's usually grubby-looking anyway. I have to pick up his

Quidditch-themed boxer shorts, socks, four pairs of grey trousers, two pairs of

khakis, and about ten shirts. He'd left his pajamas on the floor again, horrid

orange-plaid Cannons pants and the jersey he was wearing the day… the day I found

him.

It was pouring rain then, I remember thinking at that point that it was the worst

weather I'd ever seen. He was trying so hard to win the match, he wanted it more

than anything. He would have done anything for that team, I remember the look of

almost pathetic desperation on his face during the time out. But, the Dementors came,

and Hufflepuff caught the Snitch. We all thought the team would never get over the

disappointment. I saw him later that night, he looked crushed. And then, all of a

sudden, I knew that I was in love with him. 

It was odd, no one ever thinks I'm emotive that way. I'm passionate about my

learning and my work, but I never imagined I'd pine away for anyone, I figured I'd

marry sensibly and get a research job or something with the Ministry, and be

complacent… But, I had to wait, he was never all that perceptive when it came to

matters like this. He'd always had plenty of people fawning over him at school, just

because of who he was and his status and everything. I was always the lowly

bookworm, the tagalong, the brown-noser. Well, I know now that he didn't think of

me that way , but back then, no one really gave me a second thought if I was standing

next to him.

I had to wait until after we graduated, actually, I was working for the Ministry, he was

playing Quidditch for the Cannons. Everyone else said they saw it coming. My

studiousness and dedication were apparently the perfect match for his more carefree

attitude. We were best friends, but he had no idea how I felt. He was more concerned

with Quidditch than me, just like at school. Truthfully, I was probably more

concerned with impressing my superiors than I was with him, too. 

Anyway, I walked into Three Broomsticks one night after work, I had a smaller flat in

Hogsmeade at that point, which my parents were none too thrilled about, he lived

nearby. I saw him sitting at a table with a girl we'd gone to Hogwarts with who now

did something for the Cannons. She was a petite, blonde girl with large blue eyes that

certainly put my plain features to shame. I remember looking at her long, straight hair

and self-consciously running my fingers through the curly tangles on my head in

dissatisfaction. I, rather melodramatically, slunk over to the bar and plopped down on

a stool. Madam Rosmerta, God bless her, was kind enough to let me practically

drown my sorrows AND myself in Firewhiskey. I began to complain loudly about my

Ministry job, and my pathetic love life, at which point in time, he sidled up on the

stool next to mine and grinned at me… I love that grin.

"Having a good night?" he asked.

"I suppose it'd be better if I had a little blonde friend to shag at the end of it!" I

slurred back angrily.

He looked very taken aback. "Oh, I'm shagging her tonight, am I?! For your

information, she's my team's manager, not that you'd know, since I'm apparently

not good enough to be your friend anymore, now that I'm just a lowly Quidditch

player. Not to mention that she's not exactly my type," he spat back.

"You know I don't like Quidditch," was the only response I could come up with.

He glared at me severely, "Go stuff yourself," he said, and stomped back to the girl.

"Go stuff HER!" I yelled at his retreating back. I looked up at Madam Rosmerta

grumpily.

"That's about enough for you, dear," she said, and pointed her wand at me,

"Soberus."

It felt like I was slapped in the face then had a gallon of coffee poured down my

throat, but at least I was moderately coherant. I walked over to his table, cringing a

bit. He was still glaring at me.

"I think you should go," he said stoically.

"Please… I'm really sorry, you know you're one of my best friends."

"I thought I was."

I looked at him helplessly, "You can't do this to me, you know you're one of the

only people I have," I whispered.

His nostrils flared a bit, and I knew I was in for it, "Why are you whispering?" he

exclaimed loudly, "Don't want anyone else to know that you give a damn about

something besides your reports and your promotions? Don't want people to think

that you're weak, and you can't survive on work alone? Don't want people to think

that you need to be cared about, too? Don't want anyone to know that you're just as

fucking fallible as the rest of us? The Ministry's bloody fucking star child, you are,

that's all that matters to you anymore. You used to have something else, but it's gone

now, don't come petitioning me for pity, I've been trying to get through to you for

YEARS!"

Against my better judgement, I took his bait, "Well, THERE'S the pot calling the

cauldron black! You call me the Ministry's star child, what about yourself, Mister

Quidditch God?! You've been hit in the head with a goddamn Bludger too many

times, your whole world revolves around winning and tactics, you don't have any

personal relationships, either! No REAL ones, everyone likes you because you're

famous!"

At that point, I knew I'd crossed the line. His eyes looked so hurt and angry and

betrayed. He just stared at me. I felt tears pricking my eyes, so I did what I always

did, I ran back home.

He didn't speak to me for weeks. I'd wait outside his building every night, I went to

all of his games, I Owled him daily. I knew he wasn't so much angry as hurt and

shocked that I'd said that to him.

Finally, one night, my luck changed. The Cannons were playing Puddlemere. It was a

tough game, the Cannons were 7-0. The team played like Hell that night, but

Puddlemere caught the Snitch. He had the same look on his face as he had the day

that they lost to Hufflepuff. I waited for him after the game outside of the doors. But,

that night, I was alone. There were no admirers, no well-wishers, no fawning women;

the Cannons had lost a game, the weather was not so fair, and friends were scarce.

He was the last one to shuffle out of the shower room, his head hung low. He looked

up, perhaps expecting someone to ask for his autograph, but I was the only one

there. I opened my mouth to say something, but he put his hand up to stop me.

"Come with me," he mumbled. 

I dutifully followed him as he Apparated back to Hogsmeade, and went up to his flat.

We walked inside, he pointed me towards his ratty sofa, which was covered in his

clothes.

"Want a drink?" he called from the kitchen.

I allowed myself a small laugh, "No thanks, they seem to get me into trouble."

He came out and sat down in a chair opposite me, "No shit."

I sighed, and began, hesitantly, to speak, "I'm really sorry. What I said to you in

Three Broomsticks was completely uncalled for. I guess- I guess I've always just

been jealous of you. You're the one that shines, I always felt like I would never be as

great as you. It's tough having a famous best friend, and always trying to make up for

it. I guess I just got a little too involved with compensating. Everyone likes you

because you're you, not because you're famous," I gave a bit of a hollow laugh, "No

one likes me because I'm me, I guess. Cutting off my nose to spite my face, I

guess."

He gave me a quizzical look.

"It's a Muggle phrase, my dad says it a lot. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for

everything. This is all my fault. You don't owe me anything, but if you could forgive

me…"

"Well, of course I owe you," he said in a slightly incredulous tone.

"For what?"

"I don't think I would've passed if it wasn't for you! Charms, Transfiguration,

Potions? I recall many long nights in the Common Room spent poring over those

things."

"You're smart enough to do it on your own… I wasn't even really helping at all."

He shrugged and shook his head. "Why did you blow up that night?"

I bit my lip, and decided that I might want to tell the honest truth eventually, "Well, I

don't know… seeing you with that girl made me upset."

He looked genuinely confused, "Why?"

"Well," I paused. "She's just not good enough for you!" I blurted out.

He gave me a half-smile, "I told you she's not my type."

All of a sudden, my hands became extremely interesting to me. I idly picked up his

strewn-about clothes and began to fold them. I looked around his messy living room.

"I could fold these forever!" I said with a half-laugh.

At that exact moment, I looked up at him to find him staring at me very intently,

unblinking. He took a deep breath.

"Would you?" he asked seriously.

"Now, I know I'm neat, but I don't want to be your maid!"

He was still staring at me, "No, I mean… do you want to… stay with me… forever?"

I gulped, "Like… roommates, you mean?"

He shook his head, and reached out to my hand, which was shakily holding a pair of

socks. He tossed the socks on the ground, and pulled me towards him. He moved

my hand up to my hair, and he smoothed it down a bit.

"I do love curly hair," he said.

"Is that why she's not your type?" I choked out.

He shook his head.

"Why then?"

"She doesn't wait for me after I lose Quidditch matches."

My eyes must have shut involuntarily, and I felt his hand travel down the side of my

face, and I could feel him getting closer to me… and then he kissed me, it was quick

and chaste. I opened my eyes and smiled at him.

"You better make sure I have plenty of clothes to pick up, otherwise I might leave," I

said.

"Might you?"

I shook my head silently, and put my head on his shoulder.

And, well, I haven't left yet. Though, after awhile, I must admit that picking up his

clothes lost a bit of novelty. That's where my secret vice comes in. After a few years

of cleaning up rumpled clothes, I learned to appreciate tidying up to music. I'd die if

anyone ever found out what I listen to. He keeps a pretty tight schedule as the newest

and youngest Head of Magical Games and Sports Department, so I can turn it off

before he gets home. A few Christmases ago, my father bought us a Muggle CD

player, which I'd charmed to work without electricity. 

Tonight's no different from any other, so I walk over to our CD rack, and pick out

an inconspicuously unmarked CD, and put it in the player, as the intro comes on, I

check the clock (I still have an hour), and begin picking up the clothes.

Sittin' here, eatin' my heart out waitin'

waitin' for some lover to call

dialed about a thousand numbers lately

almost rang the phone off the wall

I can't help singing along. It's pretty embarassing that I have an affinity for Muggle

disco, of all things, but Donna Summer gets me every time for some sad reason.

Lookin' for some hot stuff baby this evenin'

I need some hot stuff baby tonight

I want some hot stuff baby this evenin'

gotta have some hot stuff

gotta have some lovin' tonight

I need hot stuff

I want some hot stuff

I need hot stuff

Lookin' for a lover who needs another

don't want another night on my own

wanna share my love with a warm blooded lover

wanna bring a wild man back home

Gotta have some hot love baby this evenin'

I need some hot stuff baby tonight

I want some hot stuff baby this evenin'

gotta have some lovin'

got to have a love tonight

I need hot stuff

hot love

lookin' for hot love

Hot, hot, hot, hot stuff

hot, hot, hot

hot, hot, hot, hot stuff

hot, hot, hot

By this point in the song, I'm arranging his clothes in our wardrobe, I even allow

myself a bit of low-key dancing to the music… if the people at the office could see

me now!

How's that hot stuff baby this evenin'

I need some hot stuff baby tonight

gimme little hot stuff baby this evenin'

hot stuff baby got to I need your love tonight

I need hot stuff

lookin' for hot stuff

gotta have some hot stuff

Sittin' here eatin' my heart out no reason

won't spend another night on my own

I dialed about hundred numbers baby

I'm bound to find somebody home

Gotta have some hot stuff baby this evenin'

I need some hot stuff baby tonight

lookin' for some hot stuff baby this evenin'

I need your love baby

don't need your love tonight

All of a sudden, a familiar pair of arms is around my waist, swaying with me along to

the music, and he chimes in with the song, laughing and singing off-key. I'm so

surprised that I drop his pants on the floor in a big pile, and turn around to face him.

Hot stuff

baby this evening

He's holding an air microphone infront of his face, belting the song out, as I feel the

blush rising on my cheeks.

I need hot stuff baby tonight

yes, yes, I want some hot stuff baby this evenin'

I want some hot stuff baby tonight

I might have forgotten to mention that if he got paid for taking the piss, neither of us

would ever have to work a day again, and now he's moving his hips in a rather

me-like manner, grinning like a prat. And now he's moving on to some rather

unattractive pelvic thrusts, as my embarassment turns to amusement.

yes, yes, yes now hot stuff baby

I need your hot stuff baby tonight

I want some hot stuff baby this evenin'

hot stuff baby

got to I need your love tonight.

As the song fades out, he flashes me the grin, "I love it when you sing disco," he said

cheekily, taking off his robes and shirt, and flopping down on the bed. He tosses his

clothes on the floor, of course.

"So, Perce, about that hot stuff…" he says with a grin.

I snort a bit, in spite of myself, "That's right, Ol, you know how hot I get when you

dance like that," I reply sarcastically.

"I know that's right, Weasley… I see you've been cleaning the flat, how about you

finish off by, ahem, polishing the Wood?"

I roll my eyes as far as they go, "Well, hot stuff, you know your puns get me every

time," I reply with a smile.

… Looks like I'll have a few more clothes to pick up off the floor later.

A/N: This fic is, of course, dedicated to my Squin who not ONLY humoUrs my

COMPLETE affinity for P/O fics, but also serves as my faithful quasi-beta, and, in

addition, kicks some arse in general! (Not to mention how good she is at introducing

me to Aussie songs before they get big here… Ah jus' cayn gichoo outta mah hea')


End file.
